Between Death and Despair
by konarciq
Summary: He was only seconds from ruling the world - but at the very last moment he was stopped by Hank Katts and his dog. Now he's back, and with only one thing on his mind...: revenge!
1. A Professional's Job

Author´s Note:_ I'm aware that this story is not entirely according canon, since according to the imdb it should be situated somewhere after season 4, yet I have an only 14-year-old Stevie, and I use Lou as the sergeant in charge of K-9. Reason for this is that my main recent knowledge of the series comes from the French "Rintintin Junior" dvd´s, where the Paris conspiracy was placed at the end of season 3. But I'm also not that familiar with Sgt. Phillips; so that´s another reason. _

_Anyway, the story is still very much WIP; I'm not even sure I'm going to keep this title! :-) _

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**Between Death and Despair**

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It all happened so fast, so quietly. So efficiently.

He was about two blocks away from K-9 headquarters in the small, quiet industrial area behind the railway-station when a black car pulled up beside him. The driver got out with a map in his hand. "Hey lad, I think I'm lost. Do you think you could point out to me where the hell I am?"

Stevie smiled. "Sure." He walked around the car as the driver spread out a streetmap of the city on the boot. He bent down over it and the next thing he knew the driver pressed a cloth over his face. It smelled nauseating. Suffocating, and in an instant he realized it had to be chloroform or something like that. He wanted to scream!

But a velvety blackness wrapped itself around him, and he wasn´t even aware that he silently slid down on the asphalt.

Four hands picked him up and tossed him into the boot of the car. Car-doors opened and closed, the map was placed on the passenger-seat, and the car drove off at a calm pace. Towards the harbour.

Arriving at the very last dock not five minutes later, the limp body was simply dropped into a waiting wooden crate, and the crate was sealed. Two sailors picked it up and carried it on board of the foreign cargoship, lying there with the motors running. The driver and one of his helpers went on board, too. The landing was pulled in, and the roaring motors pushed the ship out of port immediately.

The second helper waved a last goodbye and got back in the car. Only to discover too late that the gear-box had been tampered with: when he put the car in reverse, instead it jumped forward and went over the quay. A splash and a few minutes of bubbles was all that was ever heard from the guy again.

* * *

Ten minutes had passed since the driver had stopped to ask Stevie the way.

Ten minutes.

There were no witnesses.

No tracks.

Everything cool, calm and efficient.

A professional´s job.


	2. Where?

"Whoaaah..." Hank Katts stretched his arms with an exaggerated yawn as he pushed back his chair. And he glanced at the clock. He knew he had a surveillance job at four, but for the rest the afternoon had been awfully quiet.

"Good. Then you can catch up on your paperwork," Lou had said during coffee break.

Hank had only scowled in return; he knew that his boss hated paperwork as much as he did. He had never been much good at sitting still. Paperwork was okay – for half an hour. But by now he was in desperate need of some hearty distraction.

His eyes went to the clock again, to see how much time still had to pass until he could reasonably leave for that surveillance job. Way too much; it was barely 3 p.m.

He sat up as another thought popped up in his mind. "I wonder where Stevie´s gotten to," he remarked.

Across from him, Renée glanced at the clock, too. "He´s not _that_ late." She chuckled. "Eager to get out of your paperwork, are you?"

Hank sighed. "Well, what kind of a day is this? I didn´t join up to sit on my bum doing paperwork all day!"

Another chuckle from his colleague. "Didn´t you read your job description before you signed up here? ´Thou shall do thy paperwork´," she ended solemnly, and Hank sniggered.

"You need some more practice before you can do a believable Lou."

"Good. Because I wasn´t imitating Lou."

They both laughed.

"But I do wonder where Stevie´s gotten to."

Renée shrugged. "It´s not that late. Maybe he went home with a friend."

"Yeah. Maybe."

They went back to work, though Hank still occasionally glanced at the clock. Three-fifteen, half past, quarter to...

Until Renée intercepted one of his glances. "Stop worrying, Hank. Stevie is fourteen years old, and he´s a responsible kid. He´ll show up. You´ve got to trust him."

Hank let out a sigh. "Yeah. I suppose you´re right."

But the hours passed. And by the time Hank´s shift ended, at least there had been some excitement, but there was still no sign of Stevie.

He picked up the phone.

"Hank, you will be home in a few minutes." Renée clearly guessed his train of thoughts.

"I know. But I have to pick up some groceries on the way and... Darn it, Renée, it´s not like Stevie to stay out for so long without letting me know where he is! He´s a responsible kid; you said so yourself!"

Renée sighed. "Did you never want to escape from the watchful eyes of your parents when you were fourteen years old?"

Hank merely scowled as he listened to his home phone ringing. He let it ring fifteen times. But no one answered.

He put down the phone and grabbed his jacket. "Come along, Rinty."

"At least give him till supper!" Renée called after him.

Hank turned with a rather upbraiding expression.

"He´s a responsible kid, Hank. Have faith in that."

He nodded. Slowly. "Thanks. I will."

---

Meanwhile, somewhere out at sea, the blackness slowly started to lift from Stevie´s mind. He moaned. The first thing he consciously noticed was his pounding head. But... was it really just his head?

Faintly he tried to shut out the roaring pounding, but it kept plaguing him.

The next thing he realized was that he felt slightly sick. And that he was lying in a rather uncomfortable position in a cramped space. He tried to stretch his sleeping leg, but something stopped him. Miserably he stretched out his hand to investigate his surroundings. He was definitely _not_ in bed, he decided. Too hard. Too cramped.

His fingers touched rough wood. A plank. In front of him, under him, behind him, to the left, to the right, above... Above him?!

Despite the pounding headache he opened his eyes in alarm. And saw absolutely nothing.

Headache and nausea were instantly forgotten: he sat up with a start. And bumped his head on the planks above him.

"Ouch!"

Bewildered he touched around him. Had he lost his eyesight?! Where was he, why couldn´t he see anything? Was it the middle of the night? But the night couldn´t possibly be _that_ black! And what was he doing in a wooden...?!

Suddenly he felt all the blood drain from his face. Had he been... buried?! Was this a coffin!?

Panic seized him in an instant: "Help!! Heeelp!! Someone get me out of here! Help!!" His fists pounded on the invisible wood in front of him, on top. "Help!! Help me!!" But the wood wouldn´t budge a quarter of an inch. "Help!!!"

After a few minutes that seemed like hours of fruitless crying for help, he gave up. Clearly this was no use; what he needed to do was think. And panic was the worst adviser, Dad always said.

He took a few deep breaths. Now what first?

He needed to find out where he was. And with his eyesight being of no use, he once more felt all around him. Still, nothing but wood, except for... He tried to turn around a little. There was something else here in the corner. It felt like soft leather, with a strap and a few clasps and a cord. And it had something bulky inside.

Carefully he touched around it, until he suddenly saw the (unfortunately only proverbial) light: it was his schoolbag!

He let out a sigh of relief. No one in their right mind would bury him with a bag full of math- and history-books – surely there were more interesting things to do in the hereafter. And besides, wasn´t a coffin of the size that you could lie down in it? He certainly couldn´t lie down in this box.

He pulled the bag to his chest and hugged it tight. And sniggered briefly. Who would have thought that a schoolbag with studybooks could give so much comfort?

"Well, beggars can´t be choosers."

He sat quietly for a few moments, trying to remember what happened. Where was he? How on earth did he get here?

A vague memory of a man asking the way was all that came slowly drifting back. He had come from school, he´d been walking towards K-9 headquarters, and then a car had stopped and some guy had asked the way. And from there on his memory was absolutely blank. Or rather black. He had no idea where he was or what he was doing here.

There was only one thing he could be sure of: the guy who had asked him the way was responsible for this. And although he didn´t have a clue why, it also seemed pretty obvious that he, Stevie Katts, had been kidnapped.

He contemplated the options for a moment. There was always the possibility that he had been picked up randomly off the street in order to provide for a free passage for some criminal. But somehow he found that hard to believe: would they really risk doing that not two blocks away from K-9 headquarters?

No, he found far more logic in the theory that they had kidnapped _him_ – Stevie Katts – on purpose. Either for a ransom (but surely they could get more for some millionair´s kid?), or...

And it was that ´or´ that really worried him. _Or_ they had kidnapped him specifically because he was Hank Katts´s son. To force Dad to let go of their case, or to retaliate for stopping them, or as a hostage, to get one of their mates freed, or... He had seen it before.

He sighed. Whatever they were planning to use him for, Dad would be beside himself with worry. Perhaps he was already: what time was it?

He pressed the light-switch on his watch. Quarter past five. And clearly he had not lost his eyesight; it was just pitchblack in here.

So where was he? The faint light from his watch had shown that he was indeed in some sort of wooden crate. But where was this crate?

They were clearly moving: he felt he slightly swayed back and forth in an almost even rhythm. And then there was this roaring noise. A heavy motor, he decided. Were they taking him somewhere in a truck? They must be driving on a highway then; otherwise there´d be more bumps. And it also meant they could be quite far by now: how far could you get on a highway in nearly three hours? He could be out of the country by now...

He strained his ears, to see if he could gather any more information about his whereabouts. But it was no use: the monotonous roaring of the motor drowned out every other sound.

He let out a sigh. Time enough to figure out where he was once he´d get out of here. For now he´d better concentrate on _how_ to get out of here.

Once again he tried to open the crate, this time on all sides. He even put his back and his shoulders into it as much as he could in his awkward position, but the results were poor: only the top would give in a tiny little bit, but not enough to even create a chink for him to look out.

Time to find out what resources he had at hand then. His pockets produced a few coins and a wrinkly piece of stiff paper – a five dollar note, he recalled. Further a piece of string, a few paperclips, a folded baseball-card, and his Swiss pocket-knife. Now _that_ was a real treasure, and he marvelled at their nonchalance in letting him keep it!

His schoolbag produced nothing extremely useful: books – history, algebra and French, he recalled. Gee, at the rate this was going, he was going to have a perfect excuse to get out of that algebra exam tomorrow!

The rest of the bag´s contents were equally schoolish: a notebook, some pens and pencils, two erasers and a ruler. But around his neck...! He let out a whoop of joy: he had Rinty´s silent whistle! If Rinty was _anywhere_ in the neighbourhood...! He blew the whistle as if his very life depended on it – after all, you never know, perhaps they were high upon his heels!

He strained his ears, to hear if perhaps he could make out Rinty´s excited barking over the roaring of the motor. But no, either the motor drowned out every other sound, or Rinty was too far away.

Never mind, he´d just keep blowing the whistle. After all, you never know when they might catch up with him!


	3. The Black Water

"Stevie! Stevie?" A quick check of the rooms downstairs, then Hank ran up the stairs. "Stevie? Are you home? Stevie!"

But when he finally stood still on the landing, all he heard was the beating of his own heart. And Rinty coming up the stairs.

The German Shepherd leaned onto his knee and whined softly.

And Hank sighed. "He´s not here, is he." It wasn´t even a question.

Rinty barked.

"Well, let´s whip up some supper then, and see if he gets home by then."

But suppertime came and passed, without any sign from Stevie. And as the hands of the clock wandered on towards nine, Hank finally lost his patience: he grabbed the phone and the notebook with the numbers of Stevie´s friends, and started calling around. Before it was too late.

"Mrs. Pearson? This is Hank Katts, Stevie´s Dad. I'm sorry to bother you, but Stevie hasn´t come home yet, and I'm getting a little worried. Is he perhaps over at your house?"

"No, I'm sorry, Mr. Katts, but I haven´t seen Stevie today. Would you like to speak to Buddy for a moment?"

"Yes, please."

A short silence, then Buddy´s high voice sounded. "Mr. Katts?"

"Hi Buddy. Do you happen to know where Stevie is?"

"No, I don´t. I'm sorry. I haven´t seen him after school."

"But did he say anything? Did you see where he went?"

He almost heard Buddy shrug. "Nothing special, no. He went on the bus with Natalie – perhaps he´s over at her place?"

"Thanks, Buddy. I´ll try Natalie then." He ended the call, looked up Natalie´s number – with a little heart next to it – and a moment later he had Natalie on the line:

"Hello?"

"Natalie? It´s Hank Katts, Stevie´s father. This is just a long shot, but is Stevie perhaps over at your place?"

"No, he isn´t." She sounded a little confused. Worried. "Why, isn´t he home yet?"

Hank let out a sigh. "No, but there´s nothing to be alarmed about yet; it´s not yet past his curfew. It´s just that I don´t know where he is; that´s all." It wouldn´t do to get the girl all upset as well.

"I see. But no, he´s not here. I'm sorry."

"Buddy told me that he went on the bus with you this afternoon."

"Yes, that´s right. He always does when he goes to you at K-9 headquarters after school."

Hank winced. "Do you know where he got off the bus today?"

"At the railway-station. As usual."

He gulped. "Thanks, Natalie. You´ve been a great help."

He put down the phone and leaned against the wall. "He got off the bus at the railway-station and he was on his way to K-9. So where the heck did he go?

---

He decided to give it a few more minutes. It wasn´t nine o´clock yet. And nine o´clock was Stevie´s curfew – provided Hank knew where he was. And Stevie was both punctual and disciplined; he was _never_ home late if he could help it.

Hank sat down at the kitchen-table, to watch the hands of the clock slowly ticking away the seconds. The minutes. Until the hands made a perfect ninety degree angle. At that moment he jumped up, scribbled a little note, put on his holster and his jacket, grabbed the car-keys and his walkie-talkie and ran outside, with Rinty on his heels.

A moment later, the red car sped off. Towards the railway-station.

---

"Find him, Rinty. Find Stevie."

Rinty barked, and sniffed around at the schoolbus-stop. Then he got the scent and with his nose on the ground he started off at the route Stevie took so often: past the railway-station, across the deserted railway yard and down one of the back streets of the industrial area where K-9 headquarters was situated as well.

It had gone dark by now, and the area was but scarcely lit. Nobody ever came here at night, except an occasional security guard, and of course the people from K-9. But it was kind of spooky here in the dark.

Rinty was still following the trail, and Hank´s frown became deeper and deeper. They were nearly at K-9; what on earth could have happened between here and...?

Suddenly Rinty stopped and barked, two, three times.

"What is it, partner?"

"Wroof wroof!" With his nose on the ground, Rinty walked out on the road for a meter or two. Then he stopped and sniffed around. And looked up.

"What is it, boy? Does the trail end here?"

"Wroof!" Rinty sat down and looked at him with an unspoken question in his eyes.

Hank ran his fingers through his hair – a gesture of habit when he was getting really worried. "It ends. He left the sidewalk and walked out into the street, and then his trail ends. He must have gotten into a car then."

"Wroof!" Rinty clearly agreed with him.

Hank looked about. He knew the area like the back of his hand: K-9 was less than two blocks down the street. Could Stevie have been picked up by one of his colleagues for the last few hundred yards?

That was always possible, but it would hardly explain why he never showed up. After all, there had been no major commotion at K-9 this afternoon with a colleague going missing. Or even getting in trouble.

No, he must have been picked up by someone else. The question was: by whom?

Rinty was still sniffing around, and now he barked. Hank knelt down and put his arm around Rinty´s neck. "Do you think you can follow the car Stevie got into?" After all, at least in this part it was a very quiet back street: it came to a dead end at the railway yard, and the only cars passing here were the ones of the people working for the few companies situated along this very street. Following an old trail of a car wasn´t easy, but perhaps...?

Rinty wagged his tail, and started to follow the trail with Hank on his heels. And... they went right past K-9.

"Hold on, Rinty." Hank quickly crossed the parking lot and startled his colleague on duty by barging into the building.

"Hank!? What´s up?"

"Stevie hasn´t come home yet; in fact no one has seen him since he got off the schoolbus this afternoon. I´ve got Rinty on his trail, but he seems to have gotten into a car. So I'm taking one of ours, okay?"

"Sure. Good luck."

"Thanks." Hank took a set of keys. "Oh, and Bryan?"

"Yeah?"

"I left a note for Stevie in case he gets home while I'm out looking for him. So if he does call in, let me know right away, allright?"

"Sure. Good luck, Hank."

---

It was not a minute later that Hank was following Rinty in a K-9 car. So far, Rinty seemed to have no trouble following the scent of the car Stevie had gotten into, but how well preserved the trail would be once they´d get to busier streets remained to be seen.

For now however they just continued deeper and deeper into the deserted industrial area. As a matter of fact, they were heading straight for...

Hank chewed on his lip. His imagination worked on full power exploring all the possible ´what if´s´. And the one ´what if´ that suggested itself stronger and stronger was: what if he´d been kidnapped and taken on board of a ship, without anyone noticing? They were getting awfully close to... In fact, they _were_ going to the harbour. Rinty just walked straight along the dock, all the way to the end, with Hank in his wake.

And there, at the very last berth of the dock, Rinty stopped.

Hank got out of the car. "What´s up, partner? Did he get out of the car here?"

Rinty just kept sniffing around, first to the side of the dock where a ship could have been moored, and then towards the far end of the quay. Some more sniffing, and then he looked at Hank. And barked.

With fearful misgivings, Hank came closer. "What is it, Rinty?"

Rinty barked at the black water beneath him, and then he whined.

Hank gulped. He felt his stomach contract, his blood chill. They hadn´t...

Rinty sat down and looked up at him. And whined again. Sad. Forlorn.

Hank knelt down and put his arm around Rinty´s neck for comfort. "Did he go on board of a ship here?" It was not the most logical place for a ship to moore, but he didn´t want to think about the alternative. At least not yet.

But Rinty did. He lay down on the edge of the quay, with his head on his paws. And wailed miserably.

"No." Hank´s breathing went fast. "No, Rinty. The fact that his trail ends here doesn´t necessarily mean that..." He couldn´t bring himself to voice the possibility. "This is a port. I'm sure there must have been a ship. They must have taken him on board; that´s why the trail ends here. They took him on board of a ship and they left. We'll go to the port administration office to find out what ship was lying here this afternoon. We'll trace them; don´t worry."

Rinty just kept wailing at the black water beneath him.

Brusquely, Hank got up. "Come on, Rinty." He started to speedwalk back to the office halfway down the quay, but after some ten meters he stopped. Rinty wasn´t following: he still lay there, wailing at the water.

Hank struggled with a lump in his throat. "Rinty!" He refused to believe what his partner was trying to tell him. Not until all other possibilities would be exhausted.

And unwillingly, Rinty got up and trotted after him, his head hanging.

Arriving at the port administration office, Hank rang the bell.

"Who´s there?" a metallic voice answered.

"Officer Hank Katts, from K-9."

"Come in, please."

The door buzzed and Hank and Rinty entered. They were met by an elderly man; one of the harbour masters. "Good evening, officer Katts. What can I do for you?"

"Good evening." Hank showed his badge to prove that he really was a police officer. "I was hoping you could tell me something about a ship that´s been lying here at the very end of the dock. It has probably left today: this afternoon or this evening."

The harbour master led the way towards his office, and he sat down at the computer. "The very last dock, you say?"

Hank nodded. "At the short end of the quay."

The harbour master gave him a puzzled frown. "Cargo-ships never dock at the short end of the quay. It´s too short, and it´s not deep enough."

"Well, right next to the short end of the quay then."

The harbour master typed an inquiry, and the info on a ship appeared on the screen.

"The Immaculata. Arrived two days ago, on Sunday evening. Left this afternoon around three. Hometown Caracas. Owned by ElMar, one of the biggest shipping companies of South America."

Hank flinched. "Caracas... that´s Venezuela, right?"

"Yes, it is."

"And where were they headed? To Caracas?"

The harbour master shook his head. "Cuba first. And then Caracas."

Hank ran his fingers through his hair. "And you´re absolutely certain that no other ship has been lying at the far end of the dock today? A smaller ship perhaps?"

The harbour master shook his head. "We would´ve noticed."

"But a _real _small ship? A rowing-boat, or a little speedboat?"

The harbour master regarded him pensively. "Perhaps... If they´d been really quick, I think it possible that we might have missed that. Do you mean they might have smuggled something on board of the Immaculata that way?"

Hank shook his head. "Something like that."

The harbour master turned around in his chair. "Now why are you so adamant about this smaller ship?"

Hank heaved a sigh. "I have reason to believe that my son might have been kidnapped this afternoon. Rinty here traced him to the far end of the dock. But the trail ends there – at the short end of the quay." He took a deep breath. "You haven´t happened to see him this afternoon, have you? A near fifteen-year-old, slender, 5´8´´ tall, light brown hair, brown eyes, rather peaked face?"

The man shook his head. "Sorry, no."

"Did you see anything else out of the ordinary today?"

Again a shake of the head. "But why don´t we go and take a look together?" he suggested. "If indeed there has been a ship there, it might have left a trace."

Hank readily agreed – anything was better than giving up now with hardly a clue to go on. So a few minutes later they both stood looking out over the black water at the far short end of the quay. Rinty lay down at Hank´s feet, looking down at the water, and started his agonized wailing again.

The harbour master looked at him. "What´s the matter, boy?"

Rinty only wailed louder, and looked pointedly at the black water beneath him.

The harbour master knelt down beside him and followed the dog´s gaze. The water... He placed his hand on Rinty´s head and gulped. "I think the dog is trying to tell us something."

Hank winced. He didn´t want to know... "How would you know?" It sounded pretty rude, but...

"I have a German Shepherd at home, too," the harbour master answered. "It´s amazing how smart they are."

"Yeah, I know. That´s how I figured out that Stevie must have been taken on board of some small ship here."

The harbour master slowly shook his head. "I don´t think that´s what he´s trying to tell us," he said gravely.

Rinty lifted his head and barked. One soft bark. Then he lay down to look at the black water again. Wailing desperately.

And Hank felt his blood chill. It couldn´t be... Not Stevie...!

.


End file.
